The storage cellar of Metz-Oni fortress was a cavernous, dimly lit space that smelled of damp stone, pickled vegetables, and the faint, ever-present metallic tang of Agashima's iron-rich soil. Stacks of crates and oversized barrels—built to Ogre scale—towered like dark monoliths in the gloom. In a forgotten corner, on a rough-hewn wooden table, a single, upturned drinking glass of thick, greenish crystal sat like a clumsy bell jar. A heavy, mossy brick rested squarely on its base.
Underneath, a small, azure-blue form stirred.
Jelly "Giggles" Squish opened his eyes, blinking slowly. His translucent body wobbled with the motion, sending soft ripples through his gelatinous form. A dull ache throbbed where a guard's Haki-infused club had sent him bouncing into a wall hours before. He rubbed his head with a mitten-like hand, the action causing a quiet, squelching sound. Bloop?
Pushing himself up, he pressed his face against the cool, curved glass. The world outside was a distorted panorama of shadows and stored goods. He was in the cellar. A pout formed on his simple face. This was no fun! He blew a loud, wet raspberry against the glass, fogging it up with his breath.
Clunk. The heavy wooden door at the far end of the cellar groaned open. Two massive Ogres lumbered in, their silhouettes blocking the torchlight from the hall. They moved with the deliberate, ground-shaking steps of their kind, their linen smocks stained with forge-soot. Grunting to each other in low rumbles, they hefted a barrel of salted fish onto their shoulders and shuffled out, absentmindedly leaving the door slightly ajar, a sliver of amber light cutting across the dusty floor.
Jelly's starry eyes widened. The Door. The Light. Friends were that way!
He waddled to the opposite side of his glass prison, his body jiggling with determination. He flopped down, crossing his arms with a squishy plap. The glass trembled. The brick on top rocked with a gritty scrape.
Jelly froze, then slowly turned his head to look at the brick. It had shifted. A toothy, brilliant grin spread across his face.
"Bounce time," he whispered, a gleeful hiccup in his voice.
He stood, placed both malleable hands on the glass, and pushed. It was heavy, but it was friction, not weight, that was the enemy. The glass scraped against the wood, moving a whole inch. Jelly giggled, a sound like shaking jelly. He pushed again. And again. Inch by torturous, squeaky inch, he scooted the cup toward the table's edge, his body trembling with effort and excitement. The world narrowed to the shrinking distance between the glass and the precipice.
Finally, with one last, mighty heave, the cup's center of gravity tipped. It toppled off the table.
CRASH-SHATTER-TINKLE!
The green crystal exploded on the flagstones in a thousand glittering pieces. Jelly sprang upright with an elastic boing!, his form shimmering with triumph. "Freedooooom!" he chimed, his voice echoing in the vaulted space.
The thunder of Ogre boots answered immediately. The door flew open, and three guards charged in, their eyes scanning for the source of the noise. "What broke?!"
Jelly didn't hesitate. As they stared at the shattered glass, he simply… bounced. With a soft, almost silent ffwump, he launched himself from the table, morphing mid-air into a perfect, wobbly sphere. He sailed right between the legs of a bewildered guard, who felt only a strange, cool dampness on his calf. Jelly rebounded off a crate, flattened himself into a pancake to slide under another's foot, and finally zipped through the open doorway, reforming into his usual shape as he hit the corridor. He was a blur of cheerful blue, leaving a faint, sticky, glittery trail behind him.
The fortress corridors were a nerve-shredding gauntlet of blaring alarm bells and distant shouts. Marya Zaleska led the sprint, her tall combat boots pounding a rapid rhythm on the iron-reinforced stone. Her raven hair streamed behind her, and the Heart Pirates insignia on her leather jacket was a stark splash of yellow in the grim, Gothic-industrial gloom. Her golden eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned every intersecting passage.
Behind her, Jannali Bandler ran with athletic grace, her spear, Anhur's Whisper, collapsed at her hip. Her stylish headscarf stayed miraculously in place, but her large brown eyes were wide, taking in the chaotic details—the stress-fractures in the masonry, the frantic scuff marks on the floor. "The stones are screaming about company," she called out, her accent cutting through the din. "Loud, entitled, and getting closer by the second!"
"No kidding!" Eliane Anđel gasped, keeping pace. The young Lunarian's silver ponytail flew behind her. Her petite frame was alight with nervous energy, and tiny, uncontrolled flickers of flame sparked at her fingertips before she clenched them shut, a testament to her newly embraced but barely-controlled power. Her chef's jacket was smudged with soot from their fight with Paula Pope. "I really, really don't want to be here when those Dragon ships arrive!"
Bringing up the rear, Dr. Zip H. Scatyl wheezed, his face pale. "This was not part of the transportation agreement!"
"Keep moving or get left," Marya said, her voice calm but edged with iron. She didn't look back. Focused on the immediate path, not the panic in your wake. Yet, a part of her noted the doctor's terror, Jannali's cryptic warnings, Eliane's sparking fingers. They were variables in her equation of escape.
They rounded a corner into a narrower service hall just as a blue, wobbling comet shot from an archway and seamlessly fell into step beside Eliane.
"Friends!" Jelly chirped, bouncing happily alongside them, his form jiggling with each stride. "Freedom! Bloop!"
Eliane's head whipped around. Stress and fear melted into pure, radiant joy. "Jelly! You're okay!" she cried, a grin splitting her face.
Jelly's massive eyes crinkled. "Jelly okay! Bouncy and not-popsicle!"
Marya's gaze flicked to the jellyfish-hybrid. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched her lips. He was a giggling mistake, undeniably cute in this deadly fortress. She shoved the softness aside. "Good. Now keep the celebration for after we're off this rock," she ordered, but the bite in her tone was milder.
"Aye, stabby captain sir!" Jelly said, morphing his hand into a wobbly salute before it melted back into a mitten.
Jannali didn't even look at him, her breath coming in heavy, irritated hitches. "Stow it, you flapping galah. If you melt on my boots, I'm leaving you for the crows."
"Is good smell!" Jelly insisted, bouncing a little higher. "Sparkly time!"
"Less talking, more running!" Dr. Scatyl squeaked, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting an Ogre materialized from the shadows.
They burst out of a final archway and into a broader, high-ceilinged loading bay. The massive, iron-web gates leading to the exterior docks were just ahead, slightly ajar. The cold, mist-laden air of Agashima, smelling of pine and forge-smoke, whistled through the gap. Freedom was a grey rectangle of light.
But between them and it stood a final squad of four Ogre guards, who turned at the sound of their approach, their hands tightening on enormous, nail-studded clubs.
Marya didn't break stride. "I'll clear the path. Jannali, watch our backs. Eliane, Jelly—get the doctor to the sub." Her voice was flat, practical.
The lead Ogre growled, hefting his club. "The Sovereign said no one leaves!"
Marya's hand fell to Nisshoku's hilt. She didn't draw it yet. She gathered her total being into a singular, suffocating intensity—a primal force that dismantled her enemy's courage before the first blow was ever struck. Her gaze, cool and assessing, locked onto the Ogre's. "The Sovereign isn't here," she said, her voice low but carrying. "And you are in my way."
The Ogre hesitated, sensing the deadly promise in her stillness.
It was all the opening Jelly needed. Seeing his friends threatened, his cheerful grin didn't fade—it just gained a determined edge. "No hurt friends!" he chimed. He planted his feet, and his gelatinous body shuddered, then expanded sideways like a growing wave, morphing into a giant, wobbly, azure-blue wall that filled the corridor between the guards and Eliane, Jannali, and the doctor.
"Go, go!" he squeaked, his voice slightly muffled.
The guards, confused, swung their clubs at the strange barrier. The weapons sank into Jelly's body with a series of damp thuds, the impact absorbed in a violent, rippling jiggle. He redirected the force downward, and the stone floor beneath the guards' feet cracked with a sharp snap.
"What is this?!" one roared, trying to pull his weapon free from the sticky, rubbery prison.
Marya saw her moment. She moved. It wasn't a blur of speed for its own sake; it was a direct, unimpeded line to the goal. She slipped past Jelly's protective form, Nisshoku still sheathed. As the first Ogre yanked his club free, she was inside his guard. A simple, devastating punch, guided by Armament Haki and the body mechanics, drove into his midsection. The air left his lungs in a pained whoosh, and he folded, crashing to the ground.
The second guard swung. Marya ducked, the club whistling over her head. She came up inside his swing, her elbow connecting with his jaw with a clean crack. He stumbled back into the third.
The fourth, smarter than his comrades, lunged not for Marya but for the open gate, aiming to slam it shut. Jannali's boomerang whistled through the air, wrapping around his ankle with a thunk. He tripped with a roar, hitting the ground hard.
"Now!" Marya commanded, not even looking at the fallen guards.
Eliane didn't need telling. She grabbed Dr. Scatyl's arm, her small hand surprisingly strong. "Come on!" With a glance at Jelly, who was happily slurping his body back into its usual form, she darted for the sliver of daylight, the Lunarian pulling the terrified doctor along.
Jannali scooped up her returning boomerang, gave Marya a nod that held a flicker of newfound respect, and followed.
Marya took one last look at the groaning guards, then at Jelly, who was now bouncing in place by the gate, waiting for her. "Stabby captain win!" he giggled.
She shook her head, the stoic mask finally breaking into a genuine, if weary, smirk. "Don't call me that." She jerked her head toward the outside. "Move, you wobbly menace."
Together, the last of their ragged group plunged through the iron gates, leaving the blaring alarms of Metz-Oni behind, escaping into the heavy, misty embrace of Agashima, with the sea—and their waiting submarine—somewhere in the grey fog ahead. The immediate fortress was behind them, but the distant, ominous silhouette of approaching World Government ships was already darkening the horizon over the iron-swamp waves. The race was far from over.
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